Undermined Values
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: A month in as members of Dauntless, Zeke takes Four to fight in a secret Dauntless fight club.


_**Soli Deo gloria**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent. Or Fight Club. Which does not exist.**

**I believe Dauntless as the most interesting, most grueling faction, and I enjoy writing that the most—apparently. Hence another fanfic about the Dauntless and their activities.**

The Dauntless's main objective is to be fearless. To be daring, courageous, bold, brave. To encompass these values, these highly esteemed morals, among the Dauntless, is an honor. And all those initiates, especially those who transferred, want to prove themselves as exactly what their faction wants them to be. It isn't unusual for the time to be two AM and the training room to hold initiates working tirelessly against the punching bags, pulling themselves up on metal bars, and doing pushups. If anything was physical, they do it. It's the only part they can control of their initiation. And even after initiation, after seeing their fears and realizing a feral need to cross those fears off a list, the members of the faction keep at it. The Candor keep their time in debates and the Erudite in their books, but the Dauntless fight, run, sneak, and become like panthers.

All the Dauntless are prideful, arrogant, overachievers. Many of them are kind, but all are a little crazy in the head. You have to be in order to jump from a roof.

Four knows all this and just doesn't understand it, but he rolls with it when he hears a knock at past midnight at his new apartment door. He finishes tying his shoelaces and opens the door a crack. He's still wary of people, even those of his new faction. He's only been a member for a month.

It's Zeke Pedrad, a stock, bronze-skinned fellow Dauntless member. He was in Four's class, and clapped him on the back when their capture-the-flag team won against Eric, who cursed and poked Four in the chest in front of the entire initiate class. He hadn't said anything in Four's defense, as the Dauntless are expected to be able to stand up for themselves, but afterwards he told Four to forget Eric; the Erudite think they know everything and when they lose, they throw temper tantrums. "Arrogant know-it-all doesn't actually know important things, like how to win," Zeke had said, grinning. For what can be thought of friendship, Zeke . . . he's a friend.

"We really have to go under the cover of night?" Four says, opening the door more.

"It's obviously for the sake of secrecy," Zeke says.

Four sighs a little, but closes the door and locks it. "Shouldn't count on the legality of the event, then."

"Things have been too Stiff for you in Abnegation. Come on." Zeke has to reach up to put his arm over Four's sore shoulders. "This is how the Dauntless live. Should be the only way to live."

Four wonders how the Dauntless don't let on on how their physical activities play havoc against their bodies; he's used to hiding his injuries from preying eyes, but that doesn't mean he can't feel the burn and deep soreness embedded in his previously under-utilized muscles. But still, he injected a painkiller syringe from the medical supply store that afternoon. He had gone in with the simple idea of relieving his pain and saw a group of the usual tattooed Dauntless buying steroids in the back. Wisely, because Marcus taught him to be wise, he turned away and didn't say a word.

Zeke leads them down the path along the Chasm where Four lives. Moonlight filters through the glass ceiling overhead, casting shadows over the Chasm, where water falls in a constant roar. Four can't help but think of how easily it can be to slip on the wet path and fall to your death because of the lack of rails. The Dauntless encourage bravery, but that is simply recklessness, especially considering how drunk these Dauntless can get. The path declines to the ground, the Pit, and Four feels a surprisingly Erudite drop of curiosity in him as Zeke leads him through shadows, a room or here there in the walls, and into a shop. The shops are like caves in the vast wall of rock.

The shop's doorway is dark, and Four sees a few people behind the guard slip into another room. But the guard quickly gains his attention.

"A bouncer," Zeke offers for explanation.

"Name?" the bouncer says.

"Zeke Pedrad," Zeke says. He juts a thumb behind him. "And Four."

The mere mention of Four makes the bouncer say humbly, "Excuse me, head right in." Four has become a Dauntless prodigy; some born-Dauntless members have five times the number of fears he, a Stiff, has. Four knows the Dauntless value those who don't fear, and so he's earned respect in their eyes.

They're allowed in and Four immediately feels the heat of too many bodies packed in a small room. Sweat fills the air and the coppery, iron-laced scent of blood. The room reverberates with cheers; he feels the tension and fist pumps nearly hit his arm. It's a circle, he realizes, in the center of the crowd, and he has no idea what they're surrounding.

"Four, here's an opening," Zeke says, and Four watches over Zeke's shoulder as Zeke cheers. Before them is a ring; its perimeter is rimmed with human bodies, not a line in sight. In the center of the circle are two men, shirtless, their ribs showing bruises. Their faces bleed sweat and blood, showcase hit targets and sandpapered injuries. The crowd around them encourages them and a punch is landed against the thicker opponent's chest. He bends back, absorbing the punch, and ends up with a repetitive punch against his competitor against the head. Four watches in ill shock; he should've known; the Dauntless fight each other, beat and abuse each other, for _fun_. For _sport_. For _entertainment_.

Four feels a pit in the bottom of his stomach as the thinner man goes down, breathing heavily and coughing up blood. "Stop. I give up," the thinner man says, blood dripping with saliva.

A familiar voice, one from training, says, "You can't forfeit. You win or you get knocked out. No quitting." It's Max, one of the leaders. And the larger man leaves another punch to his head, and the thinner competitor is knocked out.

"Pedro wins!" Max lifts the fist of the man that's covered in his opponent's won blood. The crowd cheers, but some grumble as they fork out credits to others.

"What are they doing?" Four whispers to Zeke.

"It's a betting pool, see. Each man says that they think this man will win, and if he does win, they get money from those who said otherwise. He doesn't win, they pay up," Zeke explains casually, as if this is a normal occurrence.

The Dauntless are unnaturally cruel; the Abnegation would never watch such fighting, never mind bet money on the winner. But Four doesn't say a word; mentioning how a different faction works in a room packed with Dauntless? He isn't suicidal.

A man enters the ring, a series of rings rimming his nostrils; he's tall, boxy, with his muscles distinct under his shirt. He claps his hands together and says, "Who's next, gentlemen?"

Four feels eyes on his shoulders; he decides not to move, to pretend to be invisible; he has experience doing that. But unfortunately his reputation precedes him; people mutter to each other and stare at him boldly, swinging from their liquor bottles and chuckling; some don't want to see him fight. He's a newbie member; he'll go down like a sack of potatoes; they doubt his ability to hold himself against a Dauntless hardened, seasoned man.

"Dude, they want you to fight," Zeke says, his voice sounding both scared and in excited shock.

Four doesn't move; he knows if he tries to make an escape to his apartment they'll grab him by the shoulders and toss him into the ring; his jaw tightens, his lips pressed together until they're pale; his fists clench and he straightens his back, meeting eyes all around him. He won't be claimed by his inherent cowardness to let himself get bullied, get pushed around into situations.

So he instead walks into the ring himself; he will make this decision himself, won't let someone else decide his fate for him.

The man in the ring claps a hard hand against his shoulder. "Hey, Four; name's Cory. You jumping in, showing off?"

Four keeps his eyes trained on the ground usually, but he meets the eyes of this Cory. "Who am I fighting?" he says, his voice clipped.

Cory grins, showing lost teeth, and juts a big thumb at Four's head; "We've got a contender, folks! Newbie Dauntless member, top of his class, Four!" Screams and drunken cheers fill the air. Four feels a pit grow in his stomach and smiles at the adoring crowd. "We applaud him for his courage and bravado. He's gonna show us a real testament to what Dauntless is about tonight! Now, we got any willing competitors who want to show their skill against our homeboy?"

Four catches the danger glint in a familiar eye; Eric already has three rings running through his lips, and he makes one spin, his other hand cupping his elbow. He grins a little. Four immediately feels the pit deepen; he knows Eric is too cowardly, values his life too much, to go against him. His pride would be damaged severely, also, if he was beaten by Dauntless prodigy, Four. Like he's going to go after him himself. He'd rather stay on the sidelines and watch him burn.

The crowd turns on itself, searching for a volunteer; nobody wants to fight; they all want to watch Wonder Boy beat up some poor sap. But the reality is Four is only fairly better at physical activities than others; he excels in the mental. That gave him the edge; here? There's no edge. These people are looking for one person to hurt another; they're filled with alcohol and a bloodlust. Four wonders why the hell this is the other faction he was fit for, but he also doesn't want to know; he doesn't want to be like them. Not like this.

A man stands forward; he's got long, buff arms, thick legs; built like a personal bodyguard. His face is calm and relaxed, though, like he can break out into a genuine smile any minute. Four inhales deeply but nobody notices; they're all cheering and slamming their hands against his back as he stands opposite Four.

"Name?" Cory asks.

"Ezra," says Four's opponent in a pleasant voice.

"You obviously know who this is," Cory says, patting Four on the shoulder.

"Welcome to Dauntless, Four," Ezra says, offering his hand.

Four shakes his head and feels uneasy seeing Ezra's smile.

"Let's get this show on the road, gentlemen." Cory yells past Four's shoulder, "Get your bets ready, we're going on in two!" He turns back to the two competitors. "Feel free to get ready, men. Remember, here's the rule: the fight ends, and only ends, when one of you is knocked out and can't get up." Cory smiles and steps outside the ring.

Four steps back and breathes in, watches Ezra take off his shirt and throw it at a group of women with purple and maroon hair. He's not doing that; he has three different faction symbols on his back, and he wants to get the other two when he stops aching from the sting of the needle. That, and losing this fight, would put his popularity on a downward spiral.

He sees Zeke in the crowd next to a girl with dark hair and piercings; Four recognizes her as being Lauren, a Dauntless-born, from his initiate class, but he ignores her presence as he glares at Zeke; some best friend. Is this how friendship is different in Dauntless versus Abnegation? Getting your friend in the spotlight to get beaten up by a popular, muscular man versus sharing tentative conversation and awkward body language? Yeah, Four isn't pleased by this.

Someone whistles, the room grows quiet, and Four assesses his opponent; he's always paid attention to little details about people; he sees the hint of a bandage beneath Ezra's pant leg: a weak point. Then Ezra comes at him, landing a punch against his side; Four backs up, his eyes popping, the wind knocked out of him. Okay. Ezra's got confidence, making the first move, and is left-handed. So Four resumes his stance, shoulders back, his fists up near his face. Keeping himself standing up is a priority. Down and he's out.

He and Ezra circle each other, the screams and cheers around them from the entertained spectators muted; everything is gone and concentrated, focused on the man opposite him.

Ezra swings at Four's head, making Four duck his head, shift his body, and land a kick against Ezra's side before he balances back on two feet. His face is poker; he says nothing, not even a grunt of pain, which he absorbs instead as a source of strength to draw from when his hands want to move no more. He keeps his feet moving, never standing still; it allows him time to react when he sees Ezra spy a particular part of his body one second before he falls back and crashes forward against him. Four catches all these hits, knows he's going to ache and groan for a week, and keeps his mouth shut. Zeke saw this kind of determination to prove everyone wrong in initiation, and he sees it now, his voice loud and pounding above everyone else's. Lauren watches, shocked and surprised.

A river of blood drips from Four's mouth; his lips are covered in blood, and his chin, and his shirt has a nasty combination of their life blood mixed together. Ezra's torso is slowly becoming covered in a rainbow of dark shaded colors, of sickening green and emerging purple and harsh black and disconcerting blue. But he smiles a white-toothed smile at Four, says, "Come on, Four. Show me you're Dauntless."

Four knows that peace, the virtue Amity values, is a good thing. It is a thing long fought for, but it is something worth fighting for. What these Dauntless are fighting for is money and bragging rights. And what is he fighting for? His pride. _Those are the three things the Dauntless fight for; none of them are virtues,_ Four thinks bitterly to himself. He isn't fighting for what the Dauntless believe in but rather whatever plays out the best for he, himself, and Four. They're turning him into one of them by leading him to fight for an ulterior reason.

And he's allowing himself to be manipulated like this.

His eyes are emotionless as he pulls back his fists and hits direct weak points on his opponent. He watches with dead eyes as Ezra hisses and gasps in pain and falls to the ground in a heap, red with exertion and humiliation. That'll satisfy Eric.

Four barely hears the cheers as someone shouts out numbers until three, and Ezra doesn't rise, instead clutching his bandaged leg. People pound and slam their hands against his back but he barely feels it. His fist is hoisted into the air, and credits are shoved into his hand.

Four leaves the room, and turns in the moon-streaked pit to Zeke, who ran out after him.

"Four, why're you leaving? The crowd loves you. You lived up to their expectations." Zeke's tone changes to cautious. "You okay, man?"

"Unfortunately," Four says. He shakes his head. "I did exactly what they wanted. They're satisfied; I'm done." He turns on his heel and holds his hand against his aching jaw, gasping at the sharp pain.

"Four, come on. They love you in there!"

Four turns back around and says, his voice low and demanding, "Why'd you take me there, Zeke? You wanted to show me off? Wanted to show off to me how you got into a secret fight club?"

"No; I wanted to show you how the Dauntless live. You're Dauntless, Four, and you have to act like it. I knew you would do well; I knew you needed to experience how the Dauntless live. You're a real recluse, Four. I don't get it. Probably never will. But you can't be Stiff all your life. The Dauntless don't like that. So I wanted you to come see the Dauntless and realize your faction, maybe act like it more," Zeke tries to explain.

Four knows his intentions are noble, but he doesn't care. His eyes flick towards the secret entrance. "If that's how the Dauntless are, I don't want to be like them."

Zeke looks shocked. "Dude, you can't say crap like that around here." He steps closer. "You're a new transfer member. Your loyalties have to be strictly Dauntless, or it won't matter how many fears you have."

"Faction before blood," Four says emotionlessly.

Zeke sighs and puts a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Okay. You don't have to go back to fight club. Just don't scare me by saying things like that, man." He laughs weakly.

"Of course," Four says, nodding. He doesn't say how blatantly wrong it felt in his gut, in his bones, in his heart, to take down a man like that. To know he has that capability is scary enough, but to see himself in action reminded him too much of Marcus. How can inflicting pain like that be good for anyone? But he instead winces, making Zeke say, "Hey, let's get you an ice pack. Sissy."

Four smiles weakly and lets Zeke guide him back to his apartment. "Want any of the credits I won?" Zeke asks.

"You were betting on me?" Four asks.

"I've got faith in you, Four."

Four shakes his head; he doesn't want blood money. "Nah. Keep it."

No more words are said between the two sixteen-years-old; the only sounds around them are the steady, stocky footsteps of bronze-skinned boy, the thump! and the slight scrap from a limp belonging to the blood-splotched boy, the unspoken words between them, and the splash from the pounding waterfall of the Chasm.

**Thanks for reading! God bless!**


End file.
